An Incomplete Narrative History of the Kashan Valley Dragons

Chapter One - The Case for Always Doing One’s Research

Author's Note

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

At least, that’s what we Kashani told ourselves for generations—to make ourselves feel better, I suppose.

However, reader, I am neither an apologist nor a polemicist. I will not make accusations or offer excuses on either side.

This text will not tend toward the sensational like the infamous Kashan Valley Unveiled, and seeks an accuracy not entirely present in Telfit’s Treatise on Dragons.

(If you have suffered through Telfit’s Treatise, reader, please accept my sincere condolences.)

The purpose of this text is to fill in a gap in Kashan Valley history: a key turning point that has been sadly neglected by historians and dragonologists alike.

And the tale begins, as many do, with a ferocious storm and an excellent cup of tea.

--

Mirai a’Haril had worked in her grandparents’ shop as long as she could remember. So long that, at this point, she could put together a spice grinder one-handed and distinguish the five varieties of Gassam root by touch alone.

By day, she brewed delicious drinks and mixed magical remedies.

By night, she fiddled with her thesis on semi-permanent charms.

And somewhere in between all that, she was working out her role as the new head of SPELIND: the Society for the Protection of Exploited, Lonely, Injured, or Neglected Dragons.

SPELIND was the best worst-kept secret of the Valley in those days. Most everyone knew it existed, but no one knew who was involved or where it was based.

Or, most mysteriously, how its members managed to whisk at-risk dragons away without leaving anyone the wiser.

My research suggests that some suspected the a’Haril family’s involvement even before Mirai’s time. But no one seems to have made any attempts to confront them outright.

At least, not until a certain Qento family came along.

--

Thunder rolled through the air outside the shop, low and grumbling. Another bolt of lightning cut across the East Mountains, illuminating the treeline in a flash of bluish-white.

Mirai stirred the Gassam infusion three times counterclockwise and glanced out the window, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the counter.

A tremendous clap of thunder split the air. Claws dug into her neck as her jhalet jumped onto her back with a hiss.

“Ach! Daru!” Mirai yelped.

The jhalet twined across her shoulders, draping a sleek rusty-red tail down her front and tucking his pointed snout against her collarbone.

“You can stay there,” Mirai said, pouring a dash of the infusion into her tea. “But easy on the claws.”

“Are you alright?” Mirai’s grandmother ducked through the beaded curtain that led to the back rooms.

“I’m fine, Neinei. Daru’s just been jumpy all day.” Turning to face her, Mirai cupped her hands around the mug of tea with a sigh. “I think tonight’s going to be a Za’anim. And a big one.”

Neinei straightened spice jars, glancing at Mirai out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t sound pleased.”

“Ver Qento’s planning something. I know it.” She blew a dark curl away from her face. “We barely managed to heal that baby dragon we got away from him last time. And Sen said she saw some of his servants hunting around the foothills a week ago. Plus, you know how tired Paipai is and I don’t know if we can handle—”

Neinei laid a warm, dry palm against Mirai’s arm to stop her. “My dear. You worry enough for all of us. We’ll find a way to make it work. For now, drink your tea and get out there before you make yourself crazy. I can manage the shop. Besides, there’s hardly anyone about in this weather.”

Mirai swallowed hard and forced a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

She sat on the stool behind the counter and sipped her tea, reaching up to scratch between Daru’s ears. “We got this, right?”

He chirruped softly.

“Hmph. Convincing.”

The red Gassam infusion warmed her from the inside out and she made herself take a long, slow breath. She pulled her cloak off the hook and waited for Daru to slink to the floor before fastening it. Then she tied on her supply belt and pushed open the door.

“Don’t forget to redo your waterproofing charms,” Neinei called after her. “It looks like they’re starting to wear off.”

“I won’t!”

Rainwater ran down the sidechannels, dark and churning. As they hurried through the empty streets, Daru poked his head out from under her cloak. Mirai paused under a fruitseller’s canopy.

“Which way?” she asked.

Daru sniffed the air, sneezed twice, and pointed his snout southeast.

To most people, jhalet were nothing more than pests who stole eggs and frightened small children. But, as Mirai’s family had discovered, they were extremely sensitive to magic—especially dragon magic.

And they made very loyal companions, too. If a bit on the nippy side.

“Good boy.” Mirai darted back into the rain and took a shortcut through the textile district. The smells of dye and damp fabric rose in the air, unpleasantly reminiscent of laundry day.

(All academic and anecdotal sources agree: Mirai hated laundry day.)

They reached the edge of the city and Mirai’s shoulders loosened as they passed from pavement to the packed-dirt roads of farmland.

Clouds hung so thick and black in the sky that she couldn’t be sure if the sun was still up or not. Beneath her cloak, Daru fidgeted.

“Are we close?”

The jhalet poked his nose out and sneezed.

Mirai quickened her pace again, branching off onto the thin path that led to the foothills. Mud squelched around her boots, sucking her feet back down with each step.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Normally, she’d have Sen or Zivet or Paipai with her. But tonight, speed was of the utmost importance.

They really needed to recruit some younger members.

Mirai was so focused on the path ahead that she didn’t notice the tree until a wet branch smacked her in the face.

Eyes smarting, she stumbled back and wiped cold water from her cheeks.

From his pouch in her cloak, Daru chittered.

“Not funny.”

She blinked a few times to clear her vision.

And then she saw it.

A faint, silvery glimmer just up the hill.

Her breath caught.

“Daru, look.”

She threw her hood back and ran, her head whipping back and forth to catch any other signs of movement through the storm.

Just before she reached the lights, she stopped. Her lungs burned and her legs trembled with nerves.

It was happening.

Like rainbows forming in the mist, small spheres of light began to coalesce on the ground. Silver strands wove together, mingling with specks of pale pink and deep purple and delicate shades of green and blue.

Mirai reached into her belt and closed her hand around an old dragon scale. Lifting her other palm to the sky, she cast a charm.

The rain ceased around them, hitting the charm and rolling down as if along a glass dome.

She sank to her knees.

Daru nosed his way out of her cloak and crept along the ground, sniffing and purring.

“I’m here, little ones,” Mirai whispered. “You’re safe.”

The lights stopped swirling and settled into four small orbs, hovering just above the ground and quivering faintly.

Magic crackled in the air, more powerful even than the lightning still dancing on the highest peaks.

Mirai pressed her fingers to her lips and then to the earth.

Then, with a single burst of white, the lights cracked open and vanished.

In their place, four tiny dragons lay curled on the ground.

Here, reader, I must tell you something vital. You may have seen illustrations of dragonlings hatching from eggs while smiling mother dragons look tenderly on. You may even have read scholarly theories on why dragon shells are somehow impossible to find.

However, dragons do not come from eggs.

Dragons are, in fact, creatures of pure magic.

They are born from strands of the purest, most powerful good magic in the universe—coming together in an event known as Za’anim.

(The old notion that dragons hatch from eggs is an unfortunate result of a mistranslation on the part of Telfit. When one reviews the source texts he cites, the distinction between “egg” and “sphere” is clear. This is only the first of the many ways that Telfit demonstrates the pitfalls of shoddy research.)

Now, you may wonder. If dragons aren’t born from eggs, but from magic, have they no families?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Dragons choose their families.

And, reader, they love them fiercely.

When Mirai saw those four babies curled in the damp dirt, still pulsing with magic, her heart swelled with love almost as fierce as a dragon’s.

“Four,” she said softly. Tears pressed at her eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

Dragons came in ones or twos. Long ago, her Neinei swore they’d found three at once.

But never four.

Slowly, Mirai leaned forward and stroked each dragon’s nose. Their eyes opened to peer at her curiously. One yawned, a small pink tongue flicking out between tiny fangs.

“Come with me,” Mirai murmured. “I know a place where you’ll be happy.

Still sleepy, the dragonlings crawled one at a time onto Mirai’s outstretched hands. She tucked them into her magical pouch, sealing it carefully and pulling her cloak back into place.

“Hop on, Daru,” she said. “We need to hurry."

When dragons are first born, they are positively radiant with magic. But they are also at their most vulnerable.

And so she needed to get them to the dragon sanctuary before anyone else discovered them.

Mirai’s heart began pounding again as she dropped the blocking charm and plunged back into the rain. They had to get home—and fast.

She rushed down the hill, her boots slipping in the mud. Cold streams of rain began to soak through the seams of her cloak and she shivered.

The waterproofing charm. She knew she’d forgotten something.

But there was no time now.

Just before they reached the edge of the foothills, she paused. To her left, a thick patch of eshil leaves bowed in the storm. Perfect.

She reached out and grabbed a bunch in each hand. Then they raced through the fields and toward the city.

A herd of sheep, huddled under their shelter, raised their heads to glance at her as she hurried back through the farmlands. Mirai’s muscles ached and her stride began to slow.

At last, they reached the fringes of the city.

Mirai shifted her pace to a brisk walk, fighting to catch her breath and look as if she wanted nothing more than to get home and out of the rain like any other person would.

(Since this was true, it wasn’t too difficult.)

As she rounded the corner of the town square, a figure appeared in her path.

Mirai tripped, staggering to find her balance.

Then she looked up right into the face of Ver Qento himself.

The squeezing, shuddering flip her stomach performed nearly made her vomit right then and there.

(Somewhat similar, I would imagine, to how I felt when I discovered that the only surviving copy of my favorite book had been eaten by my neighbor’s kalmor.)

“Well. Pardon me," Ver Qento said, eyes flashing. “What are you doing out in such a downpour? You’ll catch your death out here.”

Words failed her for a horrible second. She swallowed a hot, dry feeling in her throat and managed to lift her hands. “Herb gathering. Eshil’s most potent when harvested during a storm.”

“My my.” Ver Qento tutted. “Your grandmother is certainly serious about her remedies. My cart is just around the corner. Shall I take you home?”

Her mind shouted no!

But she pasted a polite smile on her face.

“That would be very kind, thank you.”

They rounded the corner and Ver Qento helped her into his cart.

Once they were seated, Daru took the opportunity to peek out, glare at the man, and bite him sharply on the arm.

“Haket,” he swore, jerking sideways. “Is this... creature with you, Miss a’Haril?”

“Yes.” Mirai tucked Daru firmly back into her cloak. “My apologies. He’s nervous around strangers.”

To herself, she added, particularly around shady ones.

“I see.”

For what seemed like an eternity, they rolled through the streets, illuminated only by a few lamps still bravely flickering in the dark.

“Did you find anything else on your little expedition?” Ver Qento looked sideways at her. “Anything unusual?”

“Nothing besides a hole in my boot,” Mirai quipped, her fingers tapping her knees under her cloak.

To her relief, they arrived at the shop before he could make any more inquiries.

She leapt from the cart and inclined her head.

“Thank you, Ver Qento. I should go in, my family will be worried. Good evening to you.”

Brow furrowed, the man nodded. “Good evening to you as well.”

With that, Mirai slipped into the shop and locked the door.

That had been too close.

--

Fatigue pulled at Mirai’s arms as she arranged rocks and leaves into nests for the four baby dragons. Pale morning sunlight peeked over the mountains and touched her cool cheeks.

Neinei had fussed over her endlessly the night before, telling her her lips were purple and adding wood to the already blazing hearth.

Fortunately, Mirai didn’t take ill easily. But she couldn’t deny that she was exhausted.

Once she’d put the finishing touches on the nests, she set the dragons inside and covered each with a knitted cloth for extra coziness.

Then she stood, stretching and wincing as her back twinged.

“It’s a beautiful morning, Daru,” she said, despite the fact that the jhalet had been snoozing in a tree beside her for the better part of an hour.

The dragon sanctuary began to wake as the sun spread over it. Grumbles and roars came from the forest, mingling with the singing of birds and the gentle rush of the river. The trees shone green with dew in the sunlight, glinting like fresh-cut gemstones.

Soon, she’d come make proper introductions with the new dragons. But they’d sleep for many hours yet before they so much as opened an eyelid.

And sleep was exactly what she needed to do herself.

Mirai whistled for Daru and he sat up, peering at her from the tree to decide if it was worth ending his nap early.

When she started to walk away, he scampered down to join her.

Passing through the portal back into the shop used to make her head spin. Now, she barely noticed the slight swirling sensation as she stepped in.

The secret passage was dark and close, stuffy with years of use. Mirai whispered the charmkey and slipped out the heavy door. She locked it behind her and wove through the crowded storeroom toward the front.

Before she ducked through the curtain, she turned to glance at herself in the mirror and choked back a laugh.

Her black curls were wild, frizzy and fluffed out around her head like the feathers of an angry raven. It was almost as bad as when she’d tried the growth serum from a passing fairy caravan.

There was nothing for it now, though.

Mirai headed into the shop to make herself a calming draft. Her nerves still jangled from the meeting with Ver Qento—and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on.

“Ah, my darling,” Paipai said. His hand rested heavily on his cane, but he leaned to kiss the side of her head. “Everyone settled?”

“All settled.” Mirai smiled. “Any customers yet?”

“No, they’re probably all still drying out after yesterday. Like you should be.”

Mirai nodded, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to take a nap soon. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m feeling spry as Daru here, as always.” Winking, Paipai reached into his pocket for a bit of cheese and handed it to the jhalet.

Daru took it and climbed Mirai’s back, perching on her shoulder to eat the treat.

“Did you take your tincture this morning?” Mirai asked.

“It’s barely morning,” Paipai said, quirking an eyebrow.

She raised an eyebrow back.

“No, I haven’t. It tastes terrible, you know.”

Mirai raised the other eyebrow.

“Fine, fine. It’s upstairs.”

Mirai beamed at him. “I’ll watch the counter. I need to make myself something anyway.”

Paipai muttered something about not being able to get away with anything and shuffled towards the stairs.

It was dawn here, too, and golden light reflected off the puddles outside the shop window. Mirai hummed absently, measuring out a blend of herbs and pouring water to steep.

The bell on the door tinkled and she looked up.

“Welcome to a’Haril’s Cafe and Apothecary. How—”

Her words caught in her throat.

A man with the Qento crest on his sleeve pushed a younger man in a wheeled chair.

Ver Qento’s son.

This couldn’t be good.

Mirai fought to look natural, waiting for them to appraoch. They stopped just before the counter.

“Thank you, Emesh,” the younger man said. “Would you mind waiting outside?”

“Of course, sir."

Mirai’s hands clenched on the edge of the counter. “Good morning. What can I get you?”

“I’d like a cup of your Gassam infused tea, please. The yellow variety.”

Her voice stayed remarkably steady. “Of course. Which base?”

“Ah...” He glanced up at the menu then back at her face. “Mint, please.”

“Yes, good. Just a moment.”

She turned away, busying herself with the familiar actions of making a drink even as her mind raced. But then he spoke again.

“You’re Mirai, right?”

Mirai grimaced, then turned around.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m—”

“A Qento. I know.”

The man’s face reddened.

“Yes, Ver Qento is my father. Which, I, ah, I’m sure you also know.” He leaned closer, one hand resting on the chair’s right wheel.

“My name is Havi.”

“A pleasure. Your drink will be ready in a moment, Havi.”

“Listen.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I need to talk to you.”

“About your drink?”

“About dragons.”

Mirai flinched, freezing in place. The rest of the tea splashed into the cup.

She coughed to cover the silence. “I’ll make a disappointing conversation partner, I’m afraid. I hardly know anything about them.”

“Mirai,” Havi said quietly, his dark eyes meeting hers. “This is important.”

Mirai couldn’t look away.

“I know you rescue dragons. Well, I don’t know you do, but I suspect you do. Which is why I need your help.” Havi broke his stare then, looking down at his shoes. “My father sees them as nothing more than a source of power.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mirai said, cautious. “And you... disagree?”

His gaze jumped back up to hers. “Yes.”

“Noble of you.” She shrugged. “But I can’t help.”

“He got his hands on a baby dragon.” Havi’s voice turned pleading. “I don’t know what he’s going to do with it, but I know it won’t be good. I know one of your people got the last one out, but he has this one locked up tight. And from what he’s talking about, this won’t be the only one he’s after.”

Mirai’s eyes narrowed. “When did he get a dragon?”

“Last night.”

“What? But that’s—that’s impossible.”

“I saw him bringing it in through the garden.”

Mirai set the drink down and crossed her arms. “Why should I believe you?”

Havi bit his lip. “I... don’t have any proof. But I swear to you, he has one. And I want to help you save it.”

“Why?”

“Dragons are made of the best parts of the world,” he said, quiet. “I think they should be protected."

Mirai frowned. “Even if that means going against your father?”

Havi set his shoulders and nodded. “He’s not a bad person. But he wants power, and he’s willing to do almost anything for it."

She gave him an appraising look and held out his drink.

When he reached out to take it, Daru stretched down her arm and sniffed his fingers.

But instead of biting him, the jhalet rubbed his cheek against Havi's fingertip.

Mirai tilted her head to one side. “Hm.”

Havi scratched Daru’s chin before taking the drink, balancing it in his lap and placing a few coins on the counter.

He cleared his throat. “So...”

“So?”

“So, will you help me?”

An image flashed in Mirai’s mind. The four baby dragons, sleeping peacefully in dappled sunlight. And then another image, of a fifth dragon waking up alone and afraid.

In that instant, something within her solidified and she stood up straighter.

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”